


healing

by voksen



Category: Death Note
Genre: Comment Fic, Gunplay, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-01
Updated: 2009-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 09:45:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voksen/pseuds/voksen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two about Matt taking care of Mello and one about Mello taking care of Matt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	healing

Mello looks fucking terrible, and that's the truth, burnt and battered, just clinging to consciousness, and it shocks Matt into action, gets him moving faster than he's done in a long time. Since the last time he'd been around Mello, maybe.

He's not a doctor, but Mello says _No fucking hospitals_ so many times in his hoarse croak of a voice that Matt closes his eyes, gathers his will, does his best with what he can buy and steal and con, legal and not.

A month later, Mello's better - enough that Matt feels like he can leave him alone without the probability of coming home to a corpse - and so Matt goes out for a real shopping trip, because they've been living on pizzas and chinese and whatever he can convince the delivery guys to bring from the corner shop the whole time, and if he never sees another box of young chow again, he'll be okay.

He gets back and finds Mello awake, hunched up in bed with his head resting on his crossed arms. Shards of glass glitter from the carpet across the room; the mirror's shattered to bits and there are god damn bullet holes in his wall, but when Mello raises his head, he just says, _did you bring me any fucking chocolate_ , and there's steel in his voice that Matt knows from long experience means someone is going to pay.

 

* * *

 

The chocolate disappears from Matt's grocery bag while he's got his head in the fridge, attempting to find out what the hell's growing in the last jar of olives.

He gives it up as a lost cause after a few seconds and starts to put things away; he's half done before he notices it's gone. Leaving the packs of noodles on the counter, he sticks his head around the corner: Mello's on the couch, wrapped from waist down in a blanket and from the waist up in bandages, staring at Matt's laptop with a chocolate bar shoved into his mouth like it's never been gone.

"You're welcome, asshole," he says, and dodges back into the kitchen before the ball of foil even leaves Mello's hand - but he's grinning. Yeah, Mello's _definitely_ feeling better.

 

* * *

 

The barrel of Mello's gun is firm against the side of his neck, but Matt doesn't put his game down. Mello's crazy, and getting crazier, but he doesn't think he's bad enough yet that he'll shoot him, not like this.

"Turn it off, Matt." Mello leans down behind him, the blunt tips of his hair brushing ticklishly across Matt's bare shoulder, the heat radiating from his skin in sharp contrast to the cool pressure of the gun on the other side.

"Fuck off," Matt says, though the soft sound of Mello's breathing so close to his ear is somehow making it hard to concentrate on the action in the game. When Mello bites his neck, sudden and hard enough to really hurt, he jumps, nearly dropping his PSP. "Jesus, Mello," he says, "I said fu--"

The soft _click_ of the gun cuts through his voice, through the electronic music, and Matt freezes, trying his best to watch Mello out of the corner of his eye without turning his head.

The gun slides up his neck, tilting his chin up until he's looking at the ceiling: he lets it, because maybe he's wrong, and maybe it's loaded, maybe Mello's decided that he likes to play that rough after all. He doesn't want to bet his life on it.

"Good," Mello says, "now turn the game off."

Matt does, with another twinge of pain, just as real as the teethmarks in his neck, at the thought of not having been able to save.

But Mello's always been good at distracting him, and if he doesn't forget about his hurts, it's certainly a lot easier to _forgive_ them when Mello's swung around between his legs, Matt's cock in his mouth - even with the gun jammed uncomfortably into his side.


End file.
